


ex-magician who still knows his tricks

by powercorruptionlies



Series: this friend [1]
Category: Nirvana (Band)
Genre: A simple and pleasant one after the first little drabble, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex, Mild Smut, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29844081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powercorruptionlies/pseuds/powercorruptionlies
Relationships: Kurt Cobain/Original Female Character(s)
Series: this friend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194059
Comments: 5
Kudos: 2





	ex-magician who still knows his tricks

'so there's this guy.'

she comes out with it on a late afternoon in august. she'd been seeing kurt for months by then, but nobody had asked about boyfriends or girlfriends or this, that, and the other until now. and so, she only gives it away now. 

'oh, christ, a man,' vanessa half-jokes--but only half. 

'trust me, he hates them as much as you do,' she tells her.

the sun beats down on the porch like a thick whipcord of light and heat. the grilled peppers' scent floats through the air from where natalie pokes at them on the grill near the woodlands surrounding the garden. don't burn it all down, they tease.

vanessa allows herself to smile. 'I'll believe it when I see it.'

marty walks out across the gray slats of wood with a tray that seems to tinkle with each movement--as he gets closer, she sees that there're four filled-to-the-brim glasses fizzing from their bases, ice and lemon clunking clumsily against the sides. it's a gin and tonic she realises as she takes a full, chemically mouthful. she sets it down next to her and the ice continues to rattle melodically. 

'he's a musician.' she chokes on something despite the fact that the drink had long gone down her throat. 'I mean, he's in a band.'

'great,' vanessa drones. she resists asking her why she's being such a bitch, for it was par for the course. 

'what does he play?' marty asks, completely without context, but engaged nonetheless. he shoots natalie a thumbs up as she triumphantly lifts a pepper speared on the end of a glimmering spire. 

'he sings,' she admits, unable to stop herself from smiling. 'and plays the guitar. and drums. and... yeah.' 

marty lets out a full, appreciative laugh. 'you're in deep. how long?'

she swallows. 'since april.'

'april!' they all shout. she laughs despite their outrage. 

'tell me more!' natalie bellows from the end of the garden, just as their neighbour starts up his ride-on mower. 

'alright, well...'

-

he finishes on her chest and rolls over. it's the second time they've properly been together; and the best one yet. 

'was that okay, for you?' he asks nervously. she smiles at the way his voice shakes. 

'you're sweet,' she tells him impulsively. rolling over, she smiles at his downturned face. 'it was fucking amazing.'

'you finished? I'm not just pleasuring myself here, right?' he presses, with a hint of greater humor this time.

'I finished. wanna see for yourself, or--?'

'I'm fine, I'm fine,' he grins, looking down to where she points between her legs. he hooks an arm beneath her neck, running figure-eights around the moles on her shoulders. he kisses the other. you couldn't tell a gentler moment. the curtains flap, diaphanous and holding too much grime in the mesh material, in a rare, spring-like breeze. 

she feels suddenly uncomfortable in his arms; those arms, all knots of muscle and sinew and skin, are perfect to her, and she just simply isn't. he'd have something to say about that, however. it's only been a month or so yet she feels as if he's managed to peel something away from her that even she hasn't been able to in her life. a prickling shell like the exterior of a conker, ridiculously, pointlessly painful to rip away from the shiny nut on the inside. what could you do with that nut? not a lot, she'd always thought, but he seems to be working with whatever he'd found. 

'wanna go do anything? ice cream cone?' he asks, twirling her dark hair around his finger. she can almost feel those notches defined by the knuckles, burned into her mind. 'it's almost warm enough.'

'as warm as it's gonna get,' she contends. it's only may. she looks up again and kisses him, kisses him, kisses him. and he does it back. and it's wonderful. and she feels loved. 

he's just one, big, exuberance of love, isn't he?

they end up at mcdonalds. he apologises that it isn't as romantic as she may have anticipated. she says she'd like nothing more than to be sat in some hotboxed car, changing her order to the poor girl behind the speaker at the drive-thru every two seconds. vanilla, chocolate, oh, whatever. they end up with two vanilla cones. 

'krist always says this is why my stomach's fucked,' he says as they lick at the melting droplets of the saccharine fluid on top of his car at the end of a bridge. 'the sugar, the fat, the whatever. he says all this while eating a fuckin' hot dog.'

she laughs gently, biting the top of the cone. 'to each his own.'

'you're supposed to take sides, I think,' he tells her, not without thick irony. 'like, mine. versus my smothering friend.'

'oh, okay, okay,' she says, trying to keep a straight face. 'yeah, what a dick. lookin' out for you and all--'

'oh, shut up, shut up.' he looks at her, licking the tamed dome of white purposefully. 

'you mocking me, cobain?'

he pulls her close on the hood of his car--she staggers around for stability, trying not to lose the cone. 'right on. this kinda tastes like nothing.'

'it's just ice, really,' she admits. 'ice and fat.'

they throw the cones down onto the ground, splattering into a milky carnage atop flattened, dampened cardboard boxes with cans and bottles and their jagged edges cutting into the ground. it was a strange juxtaposition, the infantile mcdonald's wrapper drifting off between the zima bottles and catching on deadly spikes. 

'it's nice under here,' she says, and it's entirely genuine, although his face says that he doesn't believe the sentiment. 

'I used to come here all the time.' he kicks a can out of the way. 'it's shit, I'm under no pretences.' 

they don't say much more, taking in the grotesque scent wafting in from the scourge of the river before slipping back into the ford. it's a messy little car in a messy little place; and it feels like him, and she likes it as much as she likes being against him, maybe more, for it's akin to being consumed entirely by him. 

'where to?' he prods, already on the freeway. 

she looks at the passing tarmac, faded white lines in the middle of the road. she looks at him. she blanks. 

again: 'where to?' it's been a few miles, now, her staring at his profile without a word on her tongue. and that way it remains, until she can figure out how to undo the knot in her tongue. 


End file.
